This fabulous lesbian fisting erotica is written and read by Tabitha Rayne. Note: this fisting story is inspired by her experiences of OCD and poor mental health.

Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… and repeat.

Shit, it was happening. The rising of the daggers. Sabine pulled her hood over her face, trying to sink further into her top, withdraw, from herself and the street. All these damn people. Noises, smells, the overwhelming creeping of humanity. It sliced through into her, all this stuff, but there was only one way to get to Marguerite—and that was through it.

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Last week I wrote a piece about wanting to be loved. I think acknowledging the desire to be loved is useful to me, and it’s not something I’ve always been able to do. It feels shameful, somehow, to yearn for love. Like if I want it too much then I’m desperate, needy, incomplete without the validation of a romantic partner. But having thought about this a lot recently, I’ve realised that acknowledging this desire has been a net positive. Good for self-acceptance, and perhaps even for my self-worth too. Because being up front about how much I want to be loved means I also have to face the important caveat that comes hand-in-hand with that desire: I do not want to be loved at any cost.

This one’s long, waffly, and incredibly gendered. Sorry about that. 

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For as long as I can remember, I have yearned for a partner. Even when I was too young to understand sex or romance, I pursued boys. With a relentless, aching need. I’m sure some of them could sense it radiating out of me. As a child, when a brand new boy would turn up in whatever context – playing with my siblings and I on holiday, or transferring into my class from another school – my whole being would suddenly snap into focus, laser-targeted on whether or not this one might be a possibility. As a teenager, I was obsessed with the idea of having a boyfriend, and although there was one boy I was wildly in love with, I knew deep in my heart that any boy would do. I just wanted to be loved. When I finally did secure a boyfriend – even though he was entirely unsuited to me – there was a powerful feeling of relief and accomplishment. I’ve done it! I’ve got one! I am wanted! Go me! I yearn for a partner, I always have done. I just really really want to be loved.

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Note that this blog contains references to weight and body image including weight loss injections. Last week I wrote about these drugs in a rantier post, but there’s something softer and warmer that didn’t quite fit inside that one, so I also wrote this. The guy who features here has given me consent to write it, and in fact when I asked if I could write about Mounjaro his first question was “I assume the context is: get to see this hot dude pull a range of different shapes and personas?”. He knows me so well. 

One of the most incredible things about him, in my opinion, was his hugs. The way he’d wrap his big arms around me and pull me into a deep, long cuddle. Like being enveloped with love.

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I’ve spent far too long trying to come up with ideas to put a spin on this year’s Valentine’s Day post. I promise my lovely site sponsors I’ll do one every year, because Valentine’s Day is pretty big in the sex industry and it’s a good time to remind you of awesome products that you can buy to support my work. This year I’m struggling. Everything’s awful, isn’t it? Fascism, obviously. The latest tranche of Epstein emails. AI making it hard to know what’s real and what isn’t. Genocide. I get that this isn’t the most appropriate way to start a post about Valentine’s Day, but forgive me, it’s all I have. Everything is absolutely terrible, and it’s hard to write a jolly wrap or sexy little vignette designed to sell you sex toys in the shadow of all that.

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